


A Miserable Little Pile

by EmmyJay



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Castlevania AU, Death Threats, M/M, Murder, Racism, Revenge, Threats of Violence, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21961399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmyJay/pseuds/EmmyJay
Summary: An incident in the Crystal Desert brings the Hunter to the All-Maudra's doorstep.  Things go about as well as one would expect from there.(Alternate title: the Castlevania AU nobody asked for.)
Relationships: Rek'yr/skekMal (Dark Crystal)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 27





	A Miserable Little Pile

**Author's Note:**

> Originally submitted to [aballbitofsin](https://aballpitofsin.tumblr.com) on Tumblr after they received anons about a Castlevania-type AU and the concept just drive-up roundhouse kicked me in the face.
> 
> I don't have any particular plans to continue this, but after some revisions I've decided I like the writing well enough. So. Enjoy all y'all.

_"Please don't do this."_

_Laughter, rough and cruel. “Afraid, Dousan? I thought you death-worshippers longed for this.”_

_"I do not plead on my own behalf; if this is to be the day of my return to Thra, I welcome it gladly. I plead only for your sake—and for his."_

_The sound of a blow; a pained grunt, a rasping breath. "You won't save your hide with threats. Light it!"_

_The crackle of kindling caught ablaze. Coughs, curses, retreating footsteps. A lone figure burning bright, gasping, straining._

_"Please." A voice thick, lungs overcome with smoke—words dripping sorrow, remorse, the inevitability of a broken heart._

_"Please, don't make him kill you!"_

\---

The first sign Mayrin had that something was terribly wrong were the screams.

They echoed throughout the palace: wild, panicked sounds, accompanied by the commotion of hundreds of feet fleeing. She turned away from the nobles giving report of their lands—more blighted crops, more mad livestock, more vanished workers—and turned instead to the main doors of the throne room, beyond which the clamour only continued to rise.

"Forgive me," she addressed her audience, then turned to her ever-present assembly of Paladins, her second-born at their head. "Go investigate. See what that clamour is about."

The first of them had barely taken a step before the doors were thrown open and a massive figure stormed inside, Gelfling scattering in fear to form a path before him. He moved purposefully forward, stalking like an untamed beast; an unfortunate noblewoman failed to skitter out of his way quickly enough, and he pushed her violently aside, snarling in annoyance over her reedy shriek.

The visitor was a Skeksis, that much Mayrin could see plainly, yet she could not recognise him as any of the Lords she had received in the past. He wore no robes or other regalia to identify him, garbed instead in roughed leather and armor made of what appeared to be animal bone. A menagerie of trinkets clattered at his waist as he stalked across the throne room, and on his back were strapped several fearsome-looking blades. The All-Maudra straightened her shoulders, bowing her head in greeting to their visitor as he came to stop some paces before her, and—oh, this close she could see those were not mere trinkets adorning his waist, but an array of skulls, the largest roughly Podling-sized.

She tore her eyes determinedly away from the grim sight. "I welcome you to Ha'rar, my Lord..." She trailed off, unsure of the proper address, hoping only that the Lord would not take offense.

If he did, she could not tell; the contempt in his expression remained unchanged, as dark as it had been when first he strode into her court.

"skekMal," he growled, and even his voice was fearsome, "the Hunter."

At once a flurry of whispers swept across the room, frightened glances exchanged between the gathered nobles. From the few words she caught amongst them, Mayrin could guess their thoughts, and fought to urge to sigh in exasperation. There would be no banishing the superstitious, she supposed; though a sharp look from her at least quieted their murmurs.

"I welcome you, Lord skekMal the Hunter," she greeted. "To what do I owe the honour of your presence here today?"

The Hunter gave no verbal reply. Instead he raised one outstretched arm, something small and blackened dangling from his clenched fist. To Mayrin's eye it looked like some manner of jewelry, like beads strung on a cord; the fist opened, and the object fell to the floor, clattering against the flagstones.

"Brea, _don't_ —"

The frantic whisper was Seladon's voice, and Mayrin's head snapped around in time to see her youngest daughter dart forward, carefully lifting the item the Lord had dropped before them. She examined it with gentle fingers, gasping when a portion of it still crumbled to dust at her touch. She turned back to her mother, and within her eyes Mayrin could see her clever little mind working.

"I think," she whispered, "they're bones. Some kind of animal."

skekMal gave a snort, pulling Mayrin's attention back to him, and for the first time since his arrival she saw something other than contempt in his eyes. He looked almost...impressed?

"Moog bones," he confirmed. "The Dousan carry them, for _protection_." He spat the last word like so much venom on his tongue, and there was such hatred in it that Mayrin saw several Gelfling recoil. She looked again to the charm in her daughter's hands, its deliberate craftmanship—and she understood.

"Ah," she said, relieved to have some answer, "you have come from the Crystal Desert."

The Hunter looked up, attention turning away from Brea (Mayrin sagged inwardly with relief) and fixed the All-Maudra with a fierce glare. His gaze trailed sideways, over her other two daughters; further, to where her Paladins stood vigilant. On them he stopped, eyes narrowing as they crawled over them one by one, as though commiting every part of them to memory in detail.

"You sent that lot to the Desert outskirts," he said with a jerk of his head in the Paladins' direction. It was not a question.

"I did," Mayrin confirmed regardless. "There have been several reports as of late of Gelfling going missing near its border with the Endless Forest; we have reason to believe it was the Dousan who are behind these disappearances." Did the Hunter not already know this? The information had come directly from their Lords at the Castle, after all. "I sent a group of my Paladins to the Crystal Desert to investigate. There, they report that they came into conflict with a hostile Dousan sand ship."

She bowed her head in reverence. "My Paladins were forced to defend themselves. If they have somehow offended your Lordship, you have my deepest regrets."

There was a moment, then, where Mayrin believed the matter resolved. Whatever anger the Hunter carried, it would be soothed, be it by words or by penance. In that moment, she felt content in knowing that she had once again kept peace between Gelfling and Skesis, as there had been since time immemorial.

And then skekMal spoke.

"You have **all** offended me."

Whatever response Mayrin had been expecting—it was not that. Her head snapped up in alarm, and at her side she heard Seladon suck in a breath of similar sentiment.

"I...apologise, My Lord," she floundered, unsure how to proceed. "The Vapran Clan has always prided itself on its loyalty to the Lords of the Crystal. To think we have caused offense—"

The Hunter's laugh came like a blow, so harsh and abrupt that several of the gathered Gelfling screamed in alarm. Somewhere in the crowd, a noblewoman began to weep.

" **Fuck** your clan," he spat. "And fuck your Gelfling, every last one of you. Worthless, pitiful lot; playing your petty games as though your existence is of any consequence. You are nothing better than vermin crawling across the land, and the very _sight_ of you offends me."

The sheer vitriol of the words was shocking to Mayrin, and she heard the hushed gasps of the court in agreement. They all knew their place as Gelfling, of course: so far below the Skeksis as to be insignificant, blessed only by their Lords' grace and generosity to be given any consideration at all. But to hear it so cruelly, her kind regarded with such open loathing?

"Rek'yr was the only one of your race worth anything," the Hunter continued. "He was the only thing keeping your wretched hides alive—your clan and all the rest." His eyes flashed, talons curling and uncurling in agitation, as though he would have loved nothing more than to strike her down where she stood.

"And your Paladins butchered him."

Despite herself, the All-Maudra swallowed. She could not help her fear—to have angered one of their esteemed Lords was a dire situation for any Gelfling to be in. But she had to stand strong, for the sake of her people. Perhaps there was some way still to fix this, some compensation to offer Lord skekMal for the loss of this...Rek'yr. "My Lord Hunter—"

skekMal cut her off with a snarl, and the words were nothing Mayrin could recognise. They were harsh, guttural; entirely alien in form and tone, like nothing spoken across the face of Thra. From the corner of her eye she saw Seladon lunge forward to snatch Brea from where she still knelt on the floor, dragging her back and throwing her protectively behind herself and Tavra.

But then she could watch her daughters no more, because the Lord's silhouette advanced, blocking out the rest of the throne room with his bulk. He loomed before her, and even in that he was startlingly different from his brethren: where the other Crystal Lords seemed comment to look down to Gelfling, skekMal bent until their eyes were level, close enough that the jagged edges of his break brushed her nose. His breath stank, the sweetness of rotted meat and death, and it took every ounce of Mayrin's strength not to recoil from him in terror.

"One trine," he said, and lifted a single finger as though to demonstrate. "Your lot have one trine to prepare. Run, if you think you can. Hide in your forests, your mountains, your caves. Bring your weapons, for all the good they'll do you; build your fortifications, as though they'll keep you safe.

"One trine, to the day. That much, I'll allow you—for Rek'yr's sake."

The finger fell, the hand soon to follow. Mayrin followed its drop with her eyes, suddenly very aware of how silent the room had fallen.

"And after one trine?" she asked, softly. “What happens then?”

The Hunter laughed, low and terrible, and Mayrin felt a chill wash over her—as though some ancient, half-forgotten part of her was screaming in terror as it gazed upon a being not unlike death itself.

"Then,” he growled, “I begin my hunt."


End file.
